


Phantom Kisses

by justintrudeaucalendar



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Jim, Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Hurt/Comfort, I am so sorry, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jim needs a hug, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Character Death, So many daddy issues, Tarsus IV, Teen Crush, Vulcan Kisses, for like five minutes then it all goes to shit, spock needs a hug, then it just goes down hill again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-06-22 10:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justintrudeaucalendar/pseuds/justintrudeaucalendar
Summary: After the the events of Tarsus IV, freshly orphaned James Tiberius Kirk is sent to live with a foster family on Vulcan. While attempting to adjust in the wake of trauma, Jim meets Spock. Despite their initial impressions, the boys become close friends and grow up dreaming of exploring the stars together.As they reach the age where they are expected to either commit to the Vulcan Science Academy or leave for Starfleet, their childhood friendship becomes a budding romance. However, when Spock's claim to Vulcan heritage is challenged, he makes a decision for both of them. In the process, he tears all of their childhood dreams of commanding a starship together to shreds.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story will mention mental health issues, past assault, personal loss and descriptions of violence and death at various points. There will be notes before individual chapters with specific warnings. Any Vulcan language will be translated at the end of the chapter.  
> 

"Sarek, I request to speak with thee," T'Pel spoke as she let herself into the ambassador's office.

"What is it that you need, _krei_?" Sarek rose from his desk, setting diplomatic articles aside.

"Sasak and I request to submit an application to the United Federation of Planets via the embassy. As I am sure you are aware, the incident on Tarsus IV has left many of the deceased colonists' children in need of relocation. The majority of these children are emotionally compromised. Sasak and I find there is logic in bringing one of these children to Vulcan. With proper fostering, this child can learn the Vulcan disciplines necessary to reach adulthood with minimal effect of these emotional traumas. This is what Sasak and I intend to do." Upon seeing the offensively raised eyebrow Sarek offered, T'Pel changed her tactic.  
"Furthermore, your bondmate is of Earth. As we are cousins, any child of mine would be residing within the House of Sarek. Lady Amanda might find a human child... refreshing." T'Pel paused, raising an eyebrow of her own. "I find that a fostering arrangement would be in the child's, your bondmate's, and my best interest. Do you object to submitting a request to the Federation?"

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, Sarek contemplated his answer. T'Pel watched; her expression could have been interpreted as bordering on annoyed if she was anything but Vulcan. Sarek returned to his desk, opening a new file on his PADD.  
"I find no flaw in your logic. I shall contact the members of the embassy and request a child waiting relocation be aboard the next shuttle leaving Earth for Vulcan."

"Thank you, Sarek. _Dif tor heh smusma_." T'Pel said, offering the ta'al.

" _Sochya eh dif, krei_." Sarek raised his hand in a mirrored salute.

 

-

 

 _Krei_ \- cousin

 _Dif tor heh smusma_ \- live long and prosper

 _Sochya eh dif_ \- peace and long life


	2. Insult To Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets beat up, has a panic attack and is told he's being transferred into foster care on Vulcan. Spock and Sarek are in the middle of a pissing match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's barely been beta read and shorter then I'd hoped for it to be. If i kept sitting on this it would go through seven more drafts before i even considered posting it. Here you go! It's not what i want it to be and tbh i'll probably completely edit it even after i post it but i want to make some sort of progress. I've been too focused on this part, i've already written a few middle chapters i just need to get the story to that part. Also sorry i'm doing this almost purely on mobile!

"Stop it! It clearly wasn't my-" Kirk's attempt to deescalate the argument remained unfinished as a fist connected with his stomach and he doubled over in pain. This was quickly countered as a knee met his face, throwing him backwards. There was a sickening noise as his nose broke, accompanied by a ringing in Jim's ears.

For a moment, he wondered if this was what it was actually like to be in one of the over-the-top fight scenes from the vintage movies his brother, Sam, was always so obsessed with.

The thought didn't last long, he came back to reality as he hit the floor with a groan. He threw a weak kick at his attacker's knee, but they continued to thoroughly beat Jim as he laid on the floor, stunned.

As it escalated, the other shelter kids' interest was piqued and they came pouring into the hallway to watch. Many were quick to surround the older boys and they began to shout; being younger came with a strange romanticized view of violence. They believed it to be like those action movie where it's all excitement and staged fights, no harm done. So they continued to jeer and stir up the older kids as they landed as many blows as possible before they could get in trouble.

Lucky for Jim, the staff responded to the commotion quickly, shoving through the circle of kids that had gathered. Upon hearing adults shouting to break up the fight, the older boys threw their last kicks and scattered into the crowd.

By the time the hallway had cleared out, Jim was sprawled out on the tile floor, heaving.

He imagined he looked quite pathetic lying there, his broken nose already beginning to bleed. He tried to push himself off the floor only to be stopped by a Haliian woman's hand pressing gently on his shoulder. Too exhausted to fight her, he settled for leaning forward and bracing his weight on his forearm. She knelt down beside him and began her assessment, asking questions and noting visible injury on her PADD.

"I'm Idris. Can you tell me your name? Do you know where you are?" She spoke softly, projecting comfort and calm in an attempt to soothe him. Jim muttered his name, to which the woman gave a small nod as she added it to the report. "Alright, good job, Jim. Can you try to get up for me?" Jim nodded and attempted to push himself up, only to be met by shooting pain in his ribs, forcing him to fall back. Idris immediately reached for her comm, stalling when Jim’s hand clumsily reached out to stop her. Unease was beginning to settle in his gut, and the hallway had begun to shrink, crowding Jim. He needed to get out, _now_.

"I’m sorry, really just- don’t take me to med staff." He dropped his head between his arms. "I won't be able- please don't... I'm sorry, but-" A hoarse cough cut off his sentence. He cleared his throat, trying to sound stronger than he looked. His heart rate was picking up, and Idris' presence had gradually become too invasive.

"I can't- I'm sorry, they'll know- please." His thoughts flew past before he could process them. _He needed space_.

His mind began to slowly crumble into chaotic white noise. _He couldn't think._ Tightness built in his chest with every breath. Blood thundered in his ears. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. _This wasn't okay._ His elbows threatened to give out beneath him. His eyes were unwilling to cooperate, blurred by tears.

Idris reached out to take Jim by the shoulders. He drew back, head swimming and vision blurred, forcing his aching body to get further away.

"No! Don't, please I just- sorry, I ca-" Jim's rambling gave way to hyperventilation. Bile burned in his throat. His stomach churned. The ground tilted beneath him. His head pounded from the combined effects of a head injury and panic. He couldn’t feel the cold tile beneath him or Idris’ hand on his shoulder. His body was numb and useless; all sensation gave way to a distant buzz as he lost consciousness.

*

Jim came to slowly, and then all at once. He heard the gentle hum of machines as he drifted on the verge of consciousness, it almost soothed him until his mind caught up, connecting the sound to the day's previous events. He bolted upright as soon as he realized where he was. His movement stalled as pain shot through his abdomen. Wincing, he collapsed against the sickbay stretcher, a feeling of dread intertwining with the pain in his stomach. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, his chances of getting out of the medical wing unnoticed were slim. His body couldn't manage to stand due to sheer exhaustion and pain, and it refused to cooperate in his attempts to sit up. Any attempt to actually stand, let alone walk out without looking suspicious were slim to none. Without some form of medical intervention, Jim wouldn't be able to do much of anything, which was just _fantastic_. Even better, there wasn't time for him to find the strength to bare the pain and leave because there was an echoing of footsteps drawing closer and closer to his room. So Jim screwed his eyes shut and tried to remember the breathing exercise his brother had taught him, the sound of heeled shoes on linoleum giving way to the swish of the automatic door sliding open.

Jim took one last breath and opened his eyes to size up the two women who had stepped into the room. The first wore the standard, bleach white medical uniform and quietly went about the room, only speaking gentle warnings before checking his vitals. This left the other woman looking spectacularly out of place. She dressed completely in a dark shade of navy, her sharp professional attire clashing with the stark white medical room. She stood there, oblivious to how awfully she stuck out, tapping away at a PADD with her neatly manicured hand. Who ever she was, the business woman was apparently uninterested in the task at hand. Without even looking up she began to speak, she kept her voice professional but she spoke with a tone of obvious disinterest Jim was much too familiar with.

"James Tiberius Kirk? I'm Gianna Vontro." She reached out quickly for a handshake, her eyes subtly rolling when Jim flinched. "I work for the city's social services and have been assigned to aid in the Federation's relocation effort. I'm sure you've noticed a lot of your fellow survivors have been leaving or designated to leave for foster homes. The last relocation efforts have been finalized, and a couple from Vulcan has agreed to foster you. The next shuttle leaves for Vulcan four days from now at 16:00. Before you board, you will receive vaccinations for choriocytosis and symbalene blood burn. Both are mere preventive measures, you aren't at significant risk for contracting either. Any necessary paperwork will be taken care of and sent to your foster guardians. If you have any questions concerning your transfer into foster care, please ask them now."

Jim could practically smell the smoke coming from his overwhelmed brain as it tried to process all she'd said. He was going to be fostered off planet? Was that even allowed? Who was this woman and how the hell was she supposed to be helpful? She seriously lacked the personality to be a social worker. Had she even read his file? Also, what the hell did he really need more vaccines for? They'd given him everything under the sun when he'd been signed up for the colony. And most importantly, what was he supposed to do by himself on Vulcan? Each question sparked another, his anxieties snowballing. There were so many concerns and words were failing him. Jim had no idea who this woman was and he couldn't afford to give her any more leverage than she already had over his fate. Between having a panic attack, passing out, and now, flinching at an offered handshake, he had well and truly passed his limit of looking pathetic in front of untrustworthy adults. Being at such a loss for words, Jim found himself settling for his default defensive reflex to just talk now and think later.

"Am I free to leave?" He pulled absently at the edge of the gown he'd been put in. The nurse tending to him shook her head, prompting Jim's sigh. "Okay, well then, can I know who I'm living with?"

"Your legal guardians will be T'Pel and Sasak from the House of Sarek," Ms. Vontro read from her PADD. "Your personal quarters will most likely be in their cousin Ambassador Sarek's estate. It's Vulcan tradition for the heir of the family name to house their kin."

At this Jim felt his stomach drop. It was bad enough to have to live on Vulcan but, living with rich, most likely snobby Vulcans would be even worse. In his experience, wealth and power never mixed well.

"You're shipping me off to live with some fancy Ambassador? You know I'm a delinquent, right? You know I'm a middle of nowhere Iowa, farm boy. What the actual fuck am I supposed to do in an estate?"

"The Ambassador himself sent word via the Vulcan Embassy expressing his family's interest in fostering a child. They are aware of the certain... challenges such a process might involve." She said, her tone growing more clipped. In the moment, Jim ignored this, but in later recounting of the conversation, he came to suspect she wasn't used to the kids she worked with having such an attitude. Most of the kids that had been recovered from the colony were either too exhausted or too terrified to really interact with adults. On top of that, any kid who actually had the guts to ask questions was most likely grateful to be finding a home or at least smart enough to pretend to be.

"Fantastic," Jim slouching against the biobed. "And I have no say in this?"

"As a ward of the Federation, any decisions regarding your wellbeing and transfers of guardianship are made by the Federation. Will that be all?" Ms. Vontro gave a tight, clearly forced smile.

"Guess so," Jim gave the social worker his best side eye.

"Any future concerns can be addressed by the facilities' staff. Congratulations and farewell, Mr. Kirk." Ms. Vontro took her leave. Her heels echoing as she strut out and down the hallway.

Jim had a feeling that her sharp goodbye was the professional equivalent of good riddance.

*

The next four days flew by in a flurry of medical tests, paperwork and packing what few personal items he had. Jim felt like he was stranded in time, watching everything fly past him in timelapse. Over the course of 96 hours everything he owned had been packed up and sent ahead of him via cargo ship, he had been given more vaccinations then he'd thought was humanly possible and over half the remaining shelter kids had already left. Ms. Vontro hadn't been kidding when she said the relocation efforts were truly coming to an end. Even the boys who had used Kirk as a punching bag instead of attending their daily support sessions had left by lunchtime Saturday afternoon.

The remaining group of kids sat in relative silence, for most of them this was the last meal they would have at the shelter. The only noise came from the occasional encouraging murmurs of nutritionists and the shelter staff in the other room processing paperwork. Jim was grateful for the drone of those voices, it helped him to ignore his lunch and just zone out. Meals were difficult for the Tarsus IV kids and, according to his therapist, Jim was no exception. He supposed it made sense, when half a colony's population was murdered as a result of famine, the development of abnormal eating habits was expected. This is why every meal had to be monitored by a team of nutritionists and psychologists observing for and attempting to correct disordered eating.

This was essential for the younger children who binge ate after being rescued and were at risk for refeeding syndrome. Eating next to nothing for six weeks and then stuffing yourself was a dangerous game, so their meals were heavily monitored. And even out of the entire population, more than 75% of the survivors had been diagnosed with some form of an eating disorder.

Personally, Jim had no issues with food. Sure, maybe his appetite wasn't what it had been before the colony fell but he blamed that on his weakened stomach. You couldn't survive weeks of starvation without consequence.

His therapist, however, said he struggled with self-punishing and self-destructive tendencies as a result of complex trauma. She claimed that he suffered from survivor's guilt after the Tarsus IV massacre. She would then go on about how he hadn't processed the trauma and domestic violence he experienced living with his alcoholic stepfather prior to the colony and losing his brother and mother. Together, these events were the supposed causes for his eating disorder, major depression and post traumatic stress. Jim didn't buy it, but he wasn't sure that his therapist was really interested in letting him argue with her diagnosis.

Regardless of his opinions on his mental health, Jim had been in mandatory therapy sessions since his second week back on Earth. These sessions had made Jim’s life living hell, his therapist had been given his medical file which detailed everything from the jaundice he had as an infant, to the hospitalizations from when he lived with Frank. As it turned out, it was incredibly exhausting to have a stranger read off a list of all his issues while he tried to stay cool and collected. Vulnerability wasn't Jim's strong suit and he had no interest in breaking down in front of anyone, whether they were trained to deal with it or not.

Thankfully, Jim was leaving in a matter of hours so he didn't have to worry about holding his poker face for 45 minutes every other day anymore. Vulcans, to his knowledge, were a much more private race so they should respect his right to keep his record to himself. The only potential issue with this plan was his foster parents. If they had been reading up on human emotions and behavioral health in an attempt to make him feel more welcomed, they would probably ask for his file. Jim could only hope his host family would be uninterested in human psychology, allowing him to have an easy two years while he waited to turn 18. It may not be his preferred location, but beggars can't be choosers and if living on Vulcan meant no one would know anything about him, then so be it.

 

***

 

"Father, why have there been renovations made to the guest room adjacent to my own quarters?" Spock asked, breaking the silence that had lasted the entire meal. His mother's gaze immediately shot across the table to her husband's. Spock watched as she and Sarek communicated through their bond, most likely bickering. 37.54 seconds passed before Sarek answered.

"It is not your concern, but your mother finds it suitable to satisfy your human curiosity. T'Pel requested the renovation."

His father's tone agitated Spock's fragile temper, and the condescending nature of his remarks was vexing.

"I was unaware that T'Pel found the climate of her home planet irritable enough to require a temperature regulating unit with controls separate to the estate's system."

"She has arranged to foster a survivor of the Tarsus IV massacre. The colony consisted of human inhabitants; she has requested that appropriate accommodations be made. I have authorized her request." Sarek observed Spock's expression, a mix of disgust and anger. "Do you find flaw within her logic?"

"No, _sa-mekh_ , the logic is sound. However, is it wise to bring a human child to Vulcan? The culture we observe is far different from that of Earth. As an ambassador, you are aware of the rampant emotionalism humans embrace. You have witnessed the affect this society had on  _m'aih,_ and she is of an emotional maturity which will not be possessed by a survivor of trauma. A child from that background will be overwhelmed, if not ostracized by our society."

"Spock, this is the very reason we have elected to foster a child. Attempting to process and live with trauma while being in a society which embraces all emotion would be turbulent and counterproductive. By bringing a victim to Vulcan, we offer emotional disciplines and structure. Such teachings would greatly benefit a child affected by the genocide of Tarsus IV. Surak's teachings are beneficial to those who accept them." Sarek held Spock's challenging gaze. A moment passed, Spock lowered his eyes in a show of surrender.

"Very well, father." He rose stiffly, pushing his chair in and turning to leave. "Should your plan fail, it is because you understand nothing of human emotion and are ill suited for your position as Earth’s ambassador."

Spock left the room, leaving his parents to return to the routine silence of their morning meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sa-mekh: father
> 
>  
> 
> thanks for reading!  
> feedback, critique and letting me know about any typo issues is greatly appreciated  
> xoxo elliot  
> (edited 09-29-2018)


	3. Fragile Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim really should have read his orientation file.  
> Spock needs a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Finally got this thing off the drawing board. It's been sitting around far too long but I finally had a free weekend to sit down and just write. Enjoy!

Spock could not fathom why his father required his participation in welcoming the foster child. He had no intentions of engaging with whoever they may be, he especially did not intend to welcome them. Perhaps it was because he wished to spite his father, but he would not admit such a thing. So, instead he shielded himself from the new arrival, lingering a step behind his parents and relatives as they waited in the Shi Kahr shuttle port. Spock couldn’t help the nagging anger he felt creeping into his mind. It seemed irrational for his father to house a fully human child, Sarek did not even tolerate his own hybrid status. Surely one who could not tolerate his partially human son should not be partially responsible of a truly human child? As if Spock wasn’t irritable enough from his intrusive anger, his father had the nerve to turn back and preemptively discipline him.  
  
"Spock, you are to be of a lenient disposition with James. He has not yet learnt to conduct himself reasonably. Ensure that he is exposed to logical behavior, there is no need for any...outbursts." Sarek informed him pointedly, taking advantage of his wife’s less superior human hearing.  
  
In response, Spock quirked an eyebrow. His father was in no position to tell him how to act around a human. Apparently becoming Ambassador to Earth and marriage to a human wasn't enough exposure to emotionalism, because Sarek knew nothing of humans. Spock, on the other hand, was well educated in human behavioral tendencies from a young age in an attempt to understand himself and his heritage. His father had made no such effort. Now, his father invited another human into his house, who he would shame for their humanity. The House of Sarek had become chaotic under his father's guidance. Once he was of age, Spock hoped to assume his father's position as head of the House. He would be a more logical clan leader and a more adequate ambassador to Terra.  
  
Spock was snapped out of his thoughts as a loud crash echoed through the terminal. He turned to the source and saw the back of a disheveled blond human hurriedly picking up his dropped PADD. Spock watched his father’s expression morph into one of disapproval, he cleared his throat gaining the blond's attention. Upon turning, the boy gave a small lopsided smile. He appeared to recognize them, walking towards them with an unsettling aura of confidence Spock found particularly distasteful.  
  
"So, are you the ambassador I'm living with?" The boy’s borderline arrogant air seemed to slowly shift into defensive as he came to realize he was being stared down. Spock had a moment of pity for the human, he had received his father's disapproving expression before.  
  
"You are James Tiberius Kirk?” When he nodded, Sarek continued, with brewing look of irritation. “I am Ambassador Sarek and this is my bondmate, the Lady Amanda. These are your legal guardians, T'Pel and Sasak." He gestured towards each in turn. Amanda smiled warmly and T’Pel and Sasak both gave a small nod, offering the ta'al.  
  
"Hey there," He gave an awkward wave, and seemed to gather his confidence before gesturing behind Sarek and asking him, “And his name?”  
  
"This is Spock. He is to be your companion while you adjust to Vulcan." In that moment, Spock swore his father wished to make his life purposefully as potentially aggravating as he could. How dare he use him as this irrational, overconfident child’s babysitter. And for what reason? Could it be yet another attempt to provoke anger in him? So that Sarek could further ridicule and alienate him? Spock would not allow his father to hold such power over him. He is in control of his emotions, nothing Sarek did could change this.  
  
"Hello," The smile, no matter how small, the boy wore was much too obnoxious for Spock’s taste, but he repressed the surge of irritation.  
  
"James." He raised a ta'al and quickly lowered it.  
  
"It's uh- you can call me Jim."  
  
"Your legal name is James Tiberius-"  
  
"Yeah, I know but I go by Jim. It's what my friends call me," A light flush spread up his neck, signalling his obvious discomfort. "I just figured if you're kinda my guide for a while..."  
  
"Seeing as we are not friends, I shall call you James." Spock felt a twinge of something painful he could not identify when he saw the smile in James’ eyes fade. James seemed to be at a loss for words. Thankfully, Sarek began to usher the group out of the terminal before James could attempt to say anything else. Spock was disturbed by whatever he had felt watching James’ smile fall and wished to forget it as soon as he could.

 

*

 

Jim was beginning to wish he had read the file on Vulcan culture he’d been given before he had left for Shi'Kahr. He had been on Vulcan for a total of six hours now and already seemed to be a disgrace.

 

First, he tried to offer the ta’al to some friendly looking- well as friendly as any Vulcan could look- locals. He had just wanted to seem cultured, needless to say he failed. In his defense, he had seen the symbol a total of maybe three times and lacked the finger strength to do it properly. So, when he attempted the traditional greeting, instead of separating his middle and ring fingers, he separated his index and middle fingers. This gesture apparently insinuated some very nasty insult towards the receiver's clan mother. Luckily, Sarek spent ten minutes speaking in very rapid Vulcan and the situation seemed to be resolved but Spock felt the need to spend the next fifteen minutes lecturing him on the ta’al and its very bland history.

 

Then, since the universe decided that it could not possibly give Jim a break, he mistook the estate head butler’s extended hand as a handshake, not an offer to take his bag. Jim firmly grasped the poor man’s hand and within a split second, the man had flushed an incredible shade of olive. Lady Amanda quickly pulled Jim’s hand away and escorted him into an adjacent parlor, leaving Spock and Sarek to tend to the scandalized butler. Meanwhile, Jim learned that he had just inadvertently gone to second base with the hired help. Mrs. Sarek found it immensely funny but also made sure to inform him that any physical contact with Vulcans was considered intense and intimate because they're touch telepaths. All of this would have been very nice to know before Jim had made himself look like an absolute fool five minutes into his stay.

 

By the time it was appropriate to have their evening meal, Jim was sure he had his shit together. He blamed his jetlagged brain and disorientation due to the atmospheric change for his earlier mistakes and was sure that he could impress everyone at dinner by not being a hot mess. He took a sonic shower, had changed his clothes, and had just began to skim the file on Vulcan culture he’d been given by his social worker, when supper was ready. Jim felt he was more oriented, so surely he couldn’t have any more issues with etiquette?

Boy, was he wrong! Along with have a really confusing version of the middle finger and apparently kissing with their hands, Vulcans didn’t touch food with their hands. Which means when Jim went ahead and picked up what he thought looked mildly appetizing, everyone at the table stared. The worst part is Jim didn’t even notice until he’d eaten an entire piece of what he assumed was the Vulcan equivalent of a honeydew- by hand -and then briefly _licked_ away the juice that had ran down his hand. As he wiped the rest on napkin, Jim made accidental eye contact with Spock, who appeared to be trying to shoot daggers of disapproval... while fighting what looked like laughter?

Upon seeing this, Jim froze. He then suddenly remembered his conversation with Lady Amanda.

He put two and two together.

He had just licked his hand.

He had just done the Vulcan equivalent of God knows what.

Christ! How had he completely missed that? Now his foster parents and all of Spock’s family were probably rightfully put off.  

“I, um- shit! Sorry...” he muttered, "Excuse me." He quickly fled the table, opting to hide in his room.

 

*

 

It took immense amounts of control to avoid laughing as James licked his fingers. Was it from the disgusting public display from James or sympathetic embarrassment, he had yet to decide, but he was humored regardless. Surely James couldn’t be that ignorant? Had he read nothing on the culture he was to be immersed in for the next several years? Was this particular human just stupid to an extreme?

After the meal had ended, Spock decided he wished to read James’ file. He had to confirm for himself if this boy was an imbecile whose behaviour should be excused or if he was unimaginably ignorant. However, when he approached Sasak and Sarek later in the evening about this, they refused. They claimed Spock had no need to be reading a file that they had declined to read.

 

Spock found this answer unsatisfactory. So, he stayed in the communal space just outside of his father's study, waiting until it would be vacant.

 

Permission being a mere formality, Spock moved with practiced silence through Sarek's office once both he and Sasak had retired for the evening. He set aside the stacks of Embassy related PADDs and shifted his father’s personal device out from under them. Then, quickly typing the manual security code and taking note of exactly what was open on the device and where, he opened Sarek’s communications thread with a woman by the name of Gianna Vontro. He scrolled through two weeks worth of coordinating details until he reached the beginning of their conversation. Here he found a fostering application, the social worker’s approval and the file she provided which detailed the child she had elected to send.

Spock stared at the hyperlink to the document. Was this truly a good decision?

 

He was startled out of this question by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. In a panic, he paid no heed to morality, forwarded himself the file, reset the PADD to its original state and slipped out into the main living area. As quickly as he could, Spock positioned himself on the couch, opening an antique book just as his mother rounded the corner.

 

“Spock, if you have not yet meditated, you should do so now. Having a new child in the estate presents an additional need to sort one’s thoughts.” She said gently, taking the book from him and marking the page he had opened to at random.

 

“Very well, I wish you sufficient rest.” He moved to take back his book, only for his mother to place her hand on his robed arm.

 

“Spock,” She spoke in a hushed motherly tone, nudging him to sit down with her. “I understand that it must be hard to have another boy your age in the house, especially one who is fully human. But just know that your father and I love you very much. _Du nam-tor etwel k'diwa sa-fu_ , S’chn T’gai. And I know your father can be-”

 

“Mother, I find myself in need of rest.” Spock rushed, reaching for his book. Amanda wore a defeated look as she surrendered it to him.

 

“Spock, I know you want to follow the teachings of Surak for your father's benefit, but you should allow yourself some time with Jim. I think you would be able to learn quite a bit about yourself from him.” Spock gave his mother an expression of faint disgust to which she sighed. “You can’t learn everything in your books, _sa-fu_.”

 

With this she stood, gave him a tired smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder, then went along her way. Spock fought to repress the part of him that had longed for his mother to embrace him as she had when he was much younger.

For a moment he sat, listening as his mother sang quietly to herself as she prepared tea in the other room. For only a moment, he allowed himself to indulge in the nostalgia of it.

 

He was overwhelmed by memories of cinnamon ginger tea and plomeek soup that she had always made when he was ill as a child, which was quite frequently. His hybrid immune system had been weak in his early years, so a large portion of his childhood had been spent being ill. His mother had always tended to him- to a lesser extent when Sarek was around- but from the time his father left in the mornings until he returned late at night, his mother was running her hand through his hair, gently rubbing his back and singing him Terran lullabies until the medications would sedate him. He remembered the smell of her perfume and the soft sound of her voice, the love and concern that would wash over him when she’d place her bare hand against his feverish forehead.

 

The replicator's chime broke Spock’s trance and he realized that his eyes stung. He quietly slipped upstairs, embarrassed that he had become so overcome by memories of his childhood. Once in the privacy of his room, Spock wiped furiously at his traitorous eyes. Stray tears slid down his cheeks as he took a shaky breath.

This was no way for a Vulcan to act, especially not one of his age. This thought only made the tears fall faster. He was supposed to be above this kind of pathetic emotionalism, but tears continued to fall and his breaths came shallow and hiccuping. Spock fell back against his bed allowing tears to flow as they willed, stewing in his misery. His father was right to reject him for his hybrid status, but now his own mother no longer knew how to love him. He had mutated beyond a human’s range of empathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Du nam-tor etwel k'diwa sa-fu: You are our beloved son.  
> sa-fu: son
> 
> -
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> Thanks for reading! sorry for such a long wait and any typos, didn't fully edit this  
> xoxo el


	4. Welcome to the Neighborhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim can't help but be embarrassed by how his day with his foster family went and reflects on his time aboard the U.S.S. Hathaway which had taken him to Vulcan.  
> Spock continues to try and compete in the ultimate passive aggressive Vulcan showdown with Sarek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats this?? eli updating his wip for the first time since september? wow! i am so sorry that this took so dang long and i won't lie, yall will probably have to keep waiting cause school is keeping me super busy.
> 
> also, shout out to my big sister for beta reading about half of this chapter! thanks bud! (sorry about the half that hasnt been lol but im just desperate to get something out for you guys bc i feel really bad for having neglected this)

Jim’s first evening with his foster family turned out to be a complete disaster.

 

Hastily excusing himself from the evening meal, he returned to his nightmarish room. Temporarily free from judgemental stares, Jim collapsed onto his bed, and proceeded to spend ten minutes shifting about before getting comfortable on his back with his legs propped up against the wall. He spent the next hour like that, questioning exactly where his life had gone wrong.  
  
Jim tried to piss off his social worker two weeks ago when she had stormed into his life and told him he would be living on a different planet like she had mentioned that it was raining, needless to say, that didn’t work out. Now he was stuck here for who knows how long. Christ, it’s not like he even really wanted to be an asshole, it just sort of happened- he woke up in medbay, everything was just too much and, apparently, that meant Jim reverting to being a dick.

 

God, why couldn’t he just react to anxiety like every other kid on Tarsus IV had and completely shut down. It was bad enough that his backtalk had landed him here, but he’d never actually read the slightest bit about Vulcan culture. Had he taken maybe twenty minutes, he could have avoided making a fool of him. Now he was not only stuck on Vulcan but he’d made himself look like an absolute fool.

He could picture the House of Sarek now, sitting in smug, mocking silence over how idiotic the human is.

 

Fuck, he thought, it's a good thing this room had its own temperature controls. At least he wouldn’t burn up while dying of embarrassment on this sauna of a planet.

 

While wallowing in his misery, it occurred to Jim he’d forgotten his promise to message Chekov that he’d made it planetside. Jim wrote a quick comm, letting Chekov know he’d arrived in one piece; the only damaged he’d sustained was to his ego. Chekov had been Jim’s babysitter while being transported to Vulcan, and a totally unexpected friend, but then again Jim thought he would be on a public shuttle. Ms. Vontro told Jim when they first met that he was being placed into foster care on Vulcan; she had said that most of his things would be sent ahead of him and that the shuttle Jim would be on left at 16:00 four days from then, all of which sounded typical to him.

 

She had failed to mention that “shuttle” in her vocabulary meant a Constellation Class starship.

 

So, instead of taking Jim to the San Francisco public shuttle service, she drove right up to the gates of a Federation Base and requested the First Officer of the U.S.S. Hathaway. After some quick words with the First Officer, Ms. Vontro stranded him with a negligent lieutenant, who was quick to find Jim at his heel far too obnoxious. From there, one crew member after another tired of watching him, and Jim got passed down through the ranks, until he was stuck with the youngest, most talkative ensign on the crew.

  
The ensign was Chekov, or Pavel Andreievich, as he’d introduced himself. (He’d later contradict himself and insist on just being called Chekov.) Obviously excited to be handed the responsibility of an emotionally scarred orphan, Chekov took it upon himself to build the foundation of their friendship by telling his _entire_ life story.

 

Starting with his love for his home, Russia, going off on many a tangent, and ending with what he had eaten for breakfast earlier this morning, Chekov had taken over an hour telling what he claimed to be the “abridged” version of his life.

  
At first, Jim had been completely terrified, of both the starship and the ensign. Luckily, Chekov didn’t seem to mind doing all of the speaking and remained unbothered by Jim’s moody silence. This silence broke as the ship prepared to depart that first evening and Jim began to lose a grip on his anxiety. Jim fell back into his normal pissy tendencies to cope with this.

It was midway through the first of Chekov’s many tangents, that Jim snapped.

 

“So, assuming the captain is on the bridge, the coordinates were altered ever so slightly and someone was drunk enough to do it, I told Sulu that perhaps it would be possible to take the ship and-”

 

“Look, I’m sure your theory on whatever the hell it is you’re talking about is fascinating, but can you please just leave me alone?” The words came through clenched teeth.

 

“Well, yes, but no,” Chekov’s brows drew together. “You aren’t supposed to be without me on the ship, but we can-”

 

“I didn’t say we,” Tension bled through every word, “I said, leave me alone.”

 

“Yes and I’m sorry but-”

 

“But what? Take a fucking hint, Chirpov- or Chekov, whatever your stupid name is!”

 

“It’s Ensign Chekov, and I don’t think it’s wise for you to be alone-”

 

“I didn’t ask what you think!” Jim bit his tongue, trying to hold back tears.

 

“Well, okay, but you look upset, I can help-”

 

“I don’t want your goddamn help!” Despite his desperate grasps at control, tears had begun spilling down Jim’s cheeks. “Now, fuck off.”  

 

With that, a choked noise broke free from Jim’s control. He shoved Chekov aside, bursting out and down the hall.

 

Only once he had made his escape did Jim realize he had no idea where to go.

 

Spiraling further, he stumbled blindly down the hall, partially delirious from the fear response and utterly terrified. Hyperventilation won out, and Jim collapsed to the floor, beginning to dry heave from the force with which he sobbed.

 

Chekov rushed after Jim, quickly finding him a short distance down the hall with his head hung low between his arms, choking and retching in an attempt to breathe. When he tried to place a comforting hand on Jim’s shoulder, Jim threw an elbow aimed at Chekov’s face and scrambled back, ragged breaths becoming more uneven with exertion. As Chekov shifted closer to collect Jim off the floor, several more cheap shots were thrown to ward off the ensign, but he wasn’t easily shaken. Tired from the force with which his anxiety had manifested and additionally exhausted from trying to fight Chekov, Jim began to calm ever so slightly. Dreadful, gut wrenching sobs slowed to shaky, labored breaths, and Jim's combative nature became less outwardly aggressive, instead becoming dissociative. Granted, disassociation wasn't necessarily better than full blown fight-or-flight, but it gave Chekov a chance to get Jim to a less stressful environment.

 

So, Chekov carefully took Jim, picking him up bridal style, and carried him back to his quarters, unbothered by the tears soaking his shoulder. Chekov settled Jim on the couch, programmed his replicator for chocolate pudding and placed tissues within Jim's reach. When the replicator dinged, Chekov retrieved the pudding and pushed the cup and a spoon into Jim’s hands, gently encouraging him to eat.

 

He asked Jim for permission to stay in the room until Jim felt better, but Jim only stared blankly at the floor while straggling tears rolled down his cheeks. So Chekov sat on the other side of his own room and began to talk at Jim. He went step-by-step through the process of leaving Earth’s orbit, and where in the process the bridge crew was. He quietly described all the mechanisms that would be disabled, the needed coordinates and how the Captain was especially fond of telling her navigation team to, “blow this popsicle stand,”  which the entire crew agreed to be an awful 21st century reference that they all secretly loved.

  
Jim began to actually feel grounded in reality around the time Chekov admitted his hesitation to accept a promotion to the bridge crew, which is why he had been put on a navigational research project with the science officers. Chekov told Jim about the similar response he had the first time he was on the bridge as a navigator and how he had been so panicked that the Chief Medical Officer had refused to allow him back on duty until Gamma Shift the next day.

 

Over the course of the remaining eight days, Jim learned more and more about Chekov because, dear god, that kid was seriously not afraid to detail ridiculously personal stories for no reason. It was kind of terrifying how open Chekov was with him, but in a way Jim found himself jealous of how unabashedly genuine and honest the ensign was.

At the rate that Chekov shared with Jim, by the end of Jim’s stay aboard the U.S.S. Hathaway, the two had exchanged private comms and were newly friends in Jim’s book, but probably besties in Chekov’s.

 

Jim was grateful to leave, no matter how lovely Chekov’s company was, Jim hadn’t felt quite safe on that ship with all the noise in the halls on shift changes and the foreign hum of the engines.

 

Don’t get him wrong, Jim loved the ship, she was beautiful and the observation deck Chekov had showed him while the ship orbited a planet was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing Jim had ever seen. But Jim was still alone in space on a ship full of Starfleet personnel and a million miles from feeling comfortable, regardless of how much he loved the ship and how wonderful their missions seemed. Maybe in a few years he would enlist if he could ever conquer his nerves, but the ship was busy and nerve racking. And while the anxiety Jim had on his first day aboard seemed soothed by the passage of time and new knowledge of the ship, there still been more panic attacks, just from the sheer stress of such a foreign environment.

 

Even then, Jim can’t deny that he fell in love with the stars all over again as Chekov showed him far away galaxies from a holodeck. The ship itself was a masterpiece of engineering, but Jim had spent months being tuned into the finest changes in his environment. Being intune with a starship made his head ache, the constant shift changes and activity was tiring. Jim hadn’t slept nearly enough aboard the Hathaway, and now as he settled on his bed, he began to feel the lingering tension and the sleep deprivation win out.

 

The exhaustion of Jim’s travels and the physical stress of a new environment and the thinner atmosphere began to take its toll. He hadn’t realized just how little he had slept in the nine days it took to be delivered to Vulcan.  
  
So, by the time that Jim got settled in his bed for the night, his body was fully prepared to shut down, even if he was still terrified. Nine days of fight or flight instincts nagging at his mind and pumping him full of adrenaline at the slightest noise had drained Jim of all he had. At this point, he couldn’t force himself to stay awake any longer, the cool air and ridiculously soft bed had Jim asleep as soon as he had a chance to even take off his shoes.  
  
*  
  
Of course, the universe had decided that Jim wouldn’t be allowed to slowly waste away in comfort. A sharp knock sounded from the other side of his door at 06:00 exactly, followed by T’Pel informing him that his presence would be required at the morning meal. Jim groaned, rubbing at his eyes and squinting in the light of the Vulcan sun through curtains he had forgotten to close the night before. He pushed himself up, noticing his rumpled clothes from yesterday.  
  
“Yeah, okay, in a minute,” Jim forced through a yawn, hoping T’Pel would find the answer satisfying enough to leave him alone. He took a moment to stretch as he stood up, then surveyed his partially unpacked luggage, the probability of him having any kind of clothes to suit Vulcan temperatures was slim to none. So he began digging through boxes, looking for a shirt he wasn’t overly attached to so he could cut the sleeves off of, or a pair of pants he wouldn’t mind destroying.

 

Before his search could prove useful, a soft knock at the door interrupted him.

  
***

 

Having grown tired of waiting, Sarek instructed Spock to ensure James was aware of his tardiness. Uninterested in having Sarek’s attention turned on to himself, Spock did as he was told, and found himself hesitantly knocking on James’ door.

  
“James, it has been four minute and thirty seven seconds since T’Pel informed you that your presence is required. You were not present within a minute as you had previous claimed you would be. This behaviour is-” Spock got cut off by James’ door flying open, revealing James with his hair disheveled and chest bare.

 

Spock could only stare as his thoughts stalled, time stopped for a moment as his mind failed to process anything past James’ lack of clothes and unkempt appearance.  
  
“Spock, it was an expression!” Somewhere in his mind, Spock noted the abnormal tension James was holding in his shoulders, but Spock could only stare.  
  
The rising sun coming from James’ window shone generously upon the elaborate patterns of scar tissue that wrapped around his torso like mangled lattice. Spock’s eyebrows drew together as his mind searched to understand what had caused such damage.

  
The sudden brush of cool air escaping James’ room against Spock’s face derailed his thoughts as he came to realize James was still ranting.  
  
“I mean, seriously? And- on top of that, it’s way too early for your technicalities, so I’ll be down in a few, or as soon as I can find anything in this damn mess!” James’ arm flew out to gesture to what of his room could be seen from the open door. Behind him, there were clothes strewn across the floor and boxes thrown opened, antique books haphazardly stacked like fortress walls around them.  
  
“Should this-” His voice wavers ever so slightly as James’ scarred arms moved to cross over his chest, Spock’s deductions as to how those scars came to be distracting him. He took a breath to center himself before attempting to speak again. “Should this declaration also be taken as non-literally as “in a minute”?”  
  
“I don’t know, Spock. You’ll just have to wait, okay?” And with that James sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned away, shutting the door in Spock’s face.  
  
Returning to his seat downstairs, Spock reported to his father that James didn’t claim to know when he’d be down. Sarek gave his son a look that Spock couldn’t decipher, but announced their morning meal would simply begin without Jim. And with that, he signalled for breakfast to be served.

*

  
It wasn’t until fourteen minutes later that James trudged down the stairs and took his seat at the table. Jagged fabric hung loosely over bony shoulders where James had evidently cut away the sleeves of his shirt. Similarly, the cuffs of his pants poorly hid the loose threads of newly cut shorts.

 

He took his place at the table and proceeded to stare at his plate in silence for the remainder of the meal, leaving it untouched.

 

“Spock, you are to show James the property this morning and get him acquainted with the grounds,” Sarek declared as the meal came to a close, “Should he have any questions, answer them and ensure he does not overexert himself as his body acclimates.”

 

Adamantly uninterested, Spock prepared to inform his father that he would not escort James. But, James also sat forward in his seat, looking ready to protest. Much to their joint misfortune, Sarek simply dismissed them, adding on his suggestion that they start before midday as if it wasn’t an order. To make matters worse, Spock’s mother attempted to smooth over Sarek’s abrasive tendencies after Sarek and T’Pel left on embassy business.

 

“Spock, why don’t you show Jim the gardens, you’ve always loved them, I’m sure he’d like to see them.”

 

At this, he nearly snapped. Vulcans aren’t selfish, but he held no interest in James finding the gardens to be somewhere welcoming. They were Spock’s for meditation and evading his father’s company, not for James to doddle in. It was not to be treated as a communal space, they were his.

 

But, Vulcans weren’t selfish, and Spock refused to disrespect his mother in his father’s stead.

 

 

 

 

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if you wanna follow my creative process/watch me procrastinate on writing i've [created a tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/justintrudeaucalendar) under the same username dedicated purely to writing related stuff and eventually hopefully some oneshots!


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